The Trial and Judgement of Malcolm Merlyn
by Dark Empress V
Summary: Malcolm Merlyn is tried and judged for his actions. With a twist. AU. Elements of season 1, 2 and 3.
1. Starfall

The Trial and Judgement of Malcolm Merlyn

Chapter 1: Starfall

Summary: AU. Malcolm Merlyn is tried and judged for his actions. With a twist.

Author's note: First, a foreword on what is different in this verse, before we get to the first chapter itself.

HERE IT GOES: Moira Queen never held the press conference, never told anyone when the Undertaking was happening and that Malcolm was behind it, for fear of Merlyn's wrath and her children's lives.

Oliver managed to escape his unfortunate fight with Malcolm at the Merlyn Global office, but not before the Dark Archer had pulled his hood off when he gained the upper hand in their brawl. During the conversation before the fight, Merlyn did not reveal to Oliver that he had moved up the time of the Undertaking's execution, only that he found out about the Trojan in his system.

Nobody in Starling has a clue what is about to happen and who is behind it. Only the Vigilante and his associates know that Malcolm Merlyn is the Dark Archer and what he has orchestrated. Oliver and the team learn the planned time of the artificial earthquake on the very brink of the event's occurrence.

The Markov device can only be accessed and disarmed remotely, so as Diggle and Oliver race for Merlyn Global to get to the Dark Archer, Felicity is frantically trying to re-hack Merlyn's computer.

P.S. Oliver did not sleep with Laurel at the end of 1x22 and Tommy still has hopes of reuniting with her.

XxXxXxX

Meanwhile, at the Merlyn Global Penthouse.

"Dad, why did you ask me to come here at this hour?" Tommy had stormed into the place, removing his jacket and tie, throwing them carelessly onto one of the chairs. He looked at his father, concern and confusion painted on his face.

Malcolm stood by the window, his gaze fixed far away on the city spreading below them.

The moment had come. It was time his son finally learned the truth. He steeled himself inwardly for the conversation that was so long overdue.

"Tommy," he said levelly, his eyes never leaving the cityscape he had come to know so well and was now about to change forever. "Do you remember that time in the hospital when I told you about a new purpose I had found during my journey, in Nanda Parbat? That I want to make this city a better place… for you… for us?"

Tommy was getting more and more confused. Why would his father be bringing this up now? "Y-yes," he finally managed. "But you never told me how."

Malcolm suddenly turned and looked straight at him, his eyes dark as pools of deep water.  
>"By destroying this rats' nest out there," he said coldly, indicating the Glades. "Tonight."<p>

Tommy froze. His thoughts focused on just one person.

Laurel. She worked in the Glades. She was there.

Tonight.

"It's the reason I closed your mother's clinic. I didn't want to see it leveled," his father continued.

"Wh… What?" Tommy's mind was spinning. He wondered for a moment if he had had too many glasses of whiskey with his dinner and was starting to hallucinate.

Malcolm moved away from the window. "I have something I'd like you to listen to." He patted Tommy on the arm, encouraging him to follow. He removed an ornate silver box from a shelf and turned to place it upon the desk.

"The night your mother died..." Malcolm let the flood of memories rise, allowed himself to feel again just a sliver of what he'd felt that night. The box was cool under his hand; the spines of the carved Chinese dragon pressed into his palms.

He lifted the lid, turned it over. Tommy moved closer, his steps hesitant.

"She called me," Malcolm continued, holding the precious round object in his hands. "She left me a message."

"Dad?" Tommy asked hesitantly, trepidation clear in his voice.

"Her final gift to me," Malcolm said, suddenly hoarse. He closed his eyes briefly, laying the lid slowly and tenderly on the table.

Inside it was a black Mp3 player.

Malcolm pressed the "Play" button and suddenly Tommy heard his mother, a ghost from the past, forever frozen in time.

"Malcolm, I'm in trouble…," Rebecca was saying in a small, trembling voice. "I t-to... I told them to take everything… My money… My ring…"

Tommy felt freezing cold washing over him. "Turn it off!" he begged Malcolm, staring at the lid with wide eyes.

His father didn't relent, gaze icy blue, fixed somewhere… somewhere very distant.

"He shot me. I screamed for help…" Rebecca's voice was getting weaker and weaker, she was gasping for breath.

"But no one would come." Malcolm said in synch with his dead wife, his eyes blue steel.

Rebecca was crying now. "Oh God, Malcolm… I don't want to die alone…" She gasped and then there was silence.

"She bled out into the pavement while people passed by and did nothing," Malcolm said bitterly, staring off into the distance.

Tommy closed his eyes in agony, a quiet sob escaping him. This was too much.

Malcolm suddenly turned to look at his son with intensity. "Your mother built her clinic in the Glades because she wanted to save this city… It can't be saved. Because the people there don't want it to be saved," Merlyn felt anger rise up inside his chest with each word he spoke.

Tommy couldn't tear his gaze away from the recording in the lid. He heard the wrath rising up in Malcolm's voice. He knew his father could get angry, he knew he could be cold, but this… This was beyond _everything_. Beyond even the ice-cold man that returned after he had left on his two-year sojourn when his son was just eight years old.

Tommy gathered up his courage. "So you'll kill them all?" he asked quietly, in disbelief.

"Yes!" Malcolm screamed and Tommy jumped at the rage, the fury in his father's voice.

"They deserve to die! All of them! The way she died!"

Tommy looked at Malcolm in shock, unable to move or speak. His thoughts were whirling around in his head in a mad spiral. He dropped his wide-eyed gaze to the floor; his breath came faster as he tried to struggle through the maelstrom.

How could he not see this? He had been eight. Hell, he had been angry at Malcolm for going on his famous 'sojourn', leaving him alone for such a long time. But his 'daddy' failed to see it.  
>Malcolm returned so stone cold when Tommy was still just a boy and needed his father's warmth the most.<p>

It was not until the boy became a teenager that the full force of his anger at Malcolm hit him. Robert Queen had become more of a dad to him than his own ever was.

Two freaking years of finding this 'new purpose'?!

Abandoning his son, sacrificing him for the sake of some quest.

And the purpose he found was what? Mass-murder?

Destroy the Glades…

All Tommy could think of now… Laurel was there. HIS Laurel. Doing the best she could for people in the Glades in CNRI, like his mother had before she was killed.

How could his father fail to see it? How could he be willing to murder the good along with the bad?

Tommy made an ultimate decision then that he could not change.

He slowly backed away from the desk, his darkened blue gaze holding his father's until he stood near a small antique cabinet. He reached behind him and opened a drawer where he knew Malcolm kept an emergency gun ever since the assassination attempt months ago.

He grabbed the weapon and pointed it in his father's face. "I can't let you do this, Dad." His hand shook.

Malcolm approached him slowly. He blinked and looked at the boy again, but saw only hate and judgment. Not the man he had hoped to see.

He stood in front of his son, unarmed and, apparently, unafraid. "You can't stop me," he said levelly.

Blue eyes met blue…

Then, suddenly, Malcolm whipped out his hand and twisted Tommy's arm, grabbing the gun and hitting the boy over his head with it, knocking him unconscious.

He tossed the gun into a far corner of the room. He looked at the crumpled form of his son with sadness and disappointment. He knelt down and checked the pulse. It was strong; he had calculated right, as always – he had only hit hard enough to disable, not kill. Tommy would wake up at some point with a very major headache.

Oh, how Malcolm wished his son had reacted differently and could be by his side when they avenged Rebecca.

But dreams are not enough to win a war.

Suddenly, his senses caught the sounds of a fight in the staircase leading up to the top floor. He allowed himself a bitter smile. He knew who it must be. The Vigilante. Oliver Queen, of all people.

He ran towards one of the paintings behind his desk. He typed in the code to the door and entered his lair.

XxXxXxX

Oliver and Diggle disabled Merlyn's security guards pretty quickly and crashed into the penthouse. The businessman was nowhere in sight, but Oliver noticed Tommy lying on the floor unconscious. He ran up and knelt next to his best friend, taking off his hood.

"Tommy? Tommy!"

Tommy coughed, then opened his eyes, unfocused and blurry.

"Where's your father?" Oliver asked.

"I don't know…," Tommy said, clearly dazed and confused, blood running down the side of his head.

"Are you alright?"

"I…Y-yeah, just… dizzy."

"Oliver," Diggle's voice called from beside the entrance to the Dark Archer's lair.

"Are you going to kill him?" Tommy asked quietly, a hint of concern mixed with… something else visible in his eyes that could not be identified in the brief time they had.

Oliver didn't answer the question.

"Get to safety," he said briskly, then rose, put his hood back on and headed to where Diggle was standing.

The bodyguard was aiming his gun through the crack in the entrance to the lair. "Looks like a false wall."

He pulled it open fully to reveal Malcolm Merlyn standing at the very back of the room in his Dark Archer leathers, his hood hanging loosely at his back, bow in hand. A huge ventilation fan was spinning behind him, casting a myriad of dancing shadows on all the weapons gathered in this murderer's cave.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Merlyn drawled with a confident, sarcastic smile as Oliver entered, nothing but pure rage on the boy's face, Diggle right behind him. "I've been waiting for you. I wanted to see you watch your city die." His voice was dripping with ice.

"I wish you could understand why it has to be this way, Oliver. You of all people should. But now I see that you won't." Had a hint of regret entered Malcolm's voice? Oliver dismissed the thought as the Dark Archer continued, the steely edge sharpening his tone yet again. "You can't beat me, Oliver. You might be younger, you might be faster… You might even have 'backup'." Merlyn shot a deprecating glance at Diggle. "And yet, you always seem to come up short against me. Want to know why?"

Oliver felt as if he were tied, pinned against a wall, though Merlyn did not reach out. He made no movement at all, but his steady gaze kept the Vigilante frozen.

"Because you don't know," Merlyn said, emphasizing his words, "in your heart, what you are fighting for. What you are willing to sacrifice... And I do."

Oliver stayed silent for a bit, his gaze unable to leave Merlyn's. Then Diggle saw a glint of something he could not identify flash across his friend's eyes.

"Where's the transmitter?!" Oliver growled finally.

"Somewhere I can easily get to it." Malcolm said, his smile widening, seemingly relaxed. Inside, he was coiled up and ready to fight, feeling the rush of adrenaline in his veins and a sense of giddiness at the certainty no one could stop what was about to come. Not even the Vigilante and his sidekick.

"I doubt it," the bodyguard sneered. "You'll be too dead."

Oliver launched his arrow as Diggle started firing, but Malcolm darted around a corner. From this scant cover, he shot at the Vigilante, more as a delaying tactic than anything. The bodyguard cleared the corner, his gun held predictably before him in a straight-arm grip.

Malcolm struck at his wrists, disarming him and sending the gun flying. Diggle leapt at him, and Malcolm brought his knee up, doubling the man over and driving him back. With one eye on his other opponent, the Dark Archer struck rapidly at the bodyguard, blocking the man's counterpunches. Oliver circled the weapons rack and Malcolm found himself fighting both men at once.

Malcolm had to admit he had underestimated the bodyguard. He could clearly handle himself in a fight better than expected. Still, he was no match for the Dark Archer's League of Assassins training.

The boy, on the other hand, was fuelled by rage that seemed to rival his own.

Malcolm remembered where he had hurt him the most during their previous fight, so he kept aiming his blows at these places, using his bow, fists and elbows to do as much damage as possible.

The Dark Archer kicked out, and Oliver smashed into a side counter, crying out in pain. Probably another broken rib, Malcolm thought with cruel satisfaction.

Merlyn blocked a wicked punch from Diggle and returned it with interest. The bodyguard recoiled and drew back, trying to defend himself as Malcolm went in for the kill.

Unfortunately, Oliver pushed himself off the counter and back into the fray. His bow smashed brutally across the Dark Archer's face and neck.

The Dark Archer staggered back, grunting in pain. He took a few steps to regain his footing, then broke into a run. As he turned, he whipped out a pair of throwing daggers and flung them towards the bodyguard.

The knives struck Diggle in the chest and leg, and he collapsed. Oliver turned to him with concern, letting Merlyn escape through another false wall.

"Stairs, Oliver, go! Go!" Diggle yelled from the floor, grabbing at the dagger in his chest, then the one in his leg. The Vigilante nodded and darted after Merlyn. There was nothing he could do for his friend now.

The second Oliver opened the door to the roof, a black arrow zinged past him and he dodged instinctively.

The Dark Archer was standing at a distance, his hood and mask now on, another arrow already notched.

"So tell me… Are you ready to die?" Merlyn asked in a steely voice.

XxXxXxX

Felicity kept clicking frantically on her keyboard, eyes darting between screens. Darn, Malcolm Merlyn really upped his IT security systems to top levels after he had discovered her Trojan.

She had managed to break through for a moment a few hours earlier for long enough to see that the earthquake was going to happen _this very night_, but then a secondary security alert was triggered and it had crashed her systems, so she had to reboot, losing precious time.

Now, as Oliver and Diggle had sped off to keep Merlyn from unleashing hell upon the Glades and needed her help the most, she kept hitting dead end after dead end, like a virtual labyrinth with no exit point.

The fact that the noises of the fight on her comm kept distracting her was not helping, either, but she had to hear, inform, update Diggle and Oliver about her progress. She had to know what was going on with them.

Felicity gasped as Diggle grunted in pain when Merlyn's daggers hit him. Then she heard him yell at Oliver to keep going.

"Diggs?" She screamed, her heart beating a hundred miles a minute.

"I'm fine," he gasped. "Where are we with the device?"

"Nowhere, so far," she said resignedly, returning to her keyboard and pulling up yet another window.

Bingo! One of the firewalls was finally down. Now, how many more to go? She flashed back to the main screen as her eyes darted across the lines of code.

"Diggle?"

"Yes?" he gasped and she heard a hint of impatience in his voice.

"We are getting somewhere. One firewall down," She did not wait for a response, neither did she expect any. She just kept clicking away on her keyboard. Malcolm Merlyn's firewalls would not stop Felicity Smoak.

XxXxXxX

Both Archers aimed and shot arrow after arrow, dodging or deflecting as they ran towards each other across the roof, finally clashing in the middle.

Merlyn tried to smash Oliver over the head with his bow, but the Vigilante ducked on one knee. Malcolm halted his momentum, swiveled around on his feet in a flash and tried to land a blow to Oliver's back, but the boy blocked it with his own bow, then rose and spun around, trying to hit Merlyn in the abdomen.

The warrior backed away fluidly, spinning on his heel and attacking again. Bow smashed against bow.

The two archers kept playing the game of dodging and deflecting, weapons clashing, heavy grunts and panting of the two opponents the only sounds to be heard under the starlit sky.

Oliver landed a blow to Merlyn's shoulder, but the Dark Archer recovered quickly and lashed out with his bow in a wide arc, aiming for Oliver's head. The boy managed to dodge that, and the reverse sweep.

He grabbed Merlyn in an armbar and used the leverage to throw him down. The warrior went with the fall, turning it into a forward roll that allowed him to regain his feet. This maneuver gave the Vigilante enough time to stand up as well, aim his bow and shoot straight at Merlyn's head.

The Dark Archer caught the arrow, like he had during his earlier fight with Oliver in the Merlyn Global office. His massive protective glove hid the little red-blinking addition on the shaft as it exploded, throwing him off his feet.

Stupid mistake, Malcolm realized all too late as he was falling, giving Oliver the advantage he knew he would use.

XxXxXxX

Felicity downed another firewall. She heard Diggle scream in pain as he clearly tried to get up.

"Diggs... Maybe you should…"

"I know what you are about to say, Felicity. Don't bother. I'm going up there."

"But I hear the fight on my comm. As do you! Oliver just threw his exploding arrow at Merlyn! It might be over now!" She screamed, knowing the bodyguard would not listen to her anyway. She kept clicking away at the keyboard, finally breaking through the rest of the firewalls like she did with the first one.

Different code, different programming, but she knew what she was dealing with now. So she focused her gaze, wrote in her code doggedly, failed, then fussed with it a bit until she saw the Markov device control panels.

Now was the time for the fist pump.

And time to drop her hand as she realized there was still a lot more hacking to be done to disable the lethal weapon she was facing.

XxXxXxX

The Dark Archer recovered quickly from his fall, knowing he would have to make up double time for the one mistake he had made.

Oliver attacked, lashing out with his bow as he would with a rapier or a sword. Malcolm jumped up, then blocked the blow with his own weapon. Again, bow smashed against bow. Merlyn found himself thinking like he had during his League of Assassins training days.

Focus on the _now_.  
>He was like water, washing around Oliver, dodging every blow, dropping to the ground, smoothly pulling his opponent up and throwing him over his head as if the famous Vigilante weighed nothing.<p>

He felt anger rise up inside him and he let it.

This was the moment. Soon, the earthquake would begin.

Malcolm noticed, throwing a sideways glance, that the bodyguard Diggle had emerged from the door leading to the roof. Clearly, he had removed the daggers from his chest and leg. But the weapons had done their damage.

The man only made it so far after he entered through the door. He dropped to his knees, leaning against the wall.

Malcolm allowed himself a smile as he kept battling Oliver.

Bloodloss.

Diggle no longer posed a threat he would have to worry about.

Oliver was a whole different story. The boy had a lot of fight in him, Merlyn admitted reluctantly to himself.

But then, finally, the Dark Archer had him right where he wanted. His right arm gripped Oliver's neck in a deadly hold, lowering and lowering, blocking the boy's every attempt at movement. The only thing Oliver managed to do was tear off Malcolm's mask.

"Don't struggle. It's over," Merlyn said as he slowly but firmly forced the Vigilante down. "There was never any doubt in the outcome." He allowed himself a moment of triumph. "Don't worry, your mother and sister will be joining you in death!" Malcolm delivered the final verbal blow, preparing to suffocate the boy.

That, or snap his neck, whatever would come easier… or be more satisfying.

Oliver seemed to lose all his strength, giving in to the pressure, his knees weakening, lower and lower onto the ground.

Malcolm allowed himself a satisfied smile. Suffocation it would be. Slower and more agonizing.

Oliver felt himself going weaker, but less so than he had expected. He learned a lot on the Island, including the skill of making his opponent feel as if he had the upper hand. He leaned against Malcolm to make him think he was weaker than he truly was.

He heard Merlyn's words about his mother and Thea as his arch-enemy squeezed his neck, ever so slowly, preparing to deprive his opponent of breath.

Oliver saw an arrow on the ground in front of him and got a different idea on how this night would end.

Within a second, his mind was back on the raft with his father and their bodyguard, who had made it there after Sara was so suddenly ripped away by the sea. He saw him shoot the man and then shoot himself in the head before saying just one word: "Survive."

He allowed Malcolm to lower him fully to the ground, pretending to give in, while his hand reached out towards the arrow lying there.

He kept patting the ground with his hand frantically until he grabbed the arrow. He stabbed himself with it, using all of the strength he had, knowing he would hit Merlyn too. The grunt of pain he heard behind him was a satisfying proof he had judged right.

This was the last thing Malcolm expected. Pain exploded in his chest; the arrow penetrating his flesh took all his breath away. His eyes opened wide in disbelief.

It was NOT possible. With the remnants of his strength, he pushed Oliver away and the arrow fell to the ground as he stumbled backwards and fell too, choking on his own blood.

"Thank you, for teaching me what I'm fighting for," Oliver grunted, getting up with lightning speed.

Malcolm could do nothing but attempt to get up as well, trying to get over his disbelief at what had happened and assess the damage to his body.

He failed.

"But my father taught me how," Oliver finished what he was saying and delivered a blow to Malcolm that kept him from rising up.

XxXxXxX

Felicity thought she would never get where she wanted. She heard Diggle's heavy breathing and Oliver's grunts as he fought Malcolm Merlyn. Block it all out, block it! she kept saying to herself as she looked at the Markov device operating code and searched for a way to switch it off.

She heard Oliver win the fight, closed her eyes and wished she could win too. She clicked and clicked away until she cracked the code and the Markov device was down.

"Oliver!" she screamed. "I disabled it!"

"It's over...," Oliver said, walking back up to Merlyn, ready to kick him again.

He felt a sense of foreboding as the man on the ground started laughing. "If I've learned anything as a successful businessman, it's…," Merlyn paused as he coughed up more blood…, "redundancy."

He let his head fall and prepared to slow down his breathing so that the Vigilante would think he was dead, while he awaited the sounds of the earthquake.

"Felicity… There is another device." Oliver growled into the comm.

XxXxXxX

"Are you joking?" Felicity asked, just to say something, her fingers already on the keyboard, trying to locate the other Markov device. She searched with her GPS engine and there it was, not far from the first one.

In the disabled underground station, a few kilometers away, at the end of the street where Rebecca Merlyn was killed. It would destroy a different part of the Glades.

Killing hundreds… or thousands. Including _her_. Oliver's club basement, where she was right _now_, happened to be in the area the earthquake would impact.

She tried to re-hack into the device, but a different code flashed. Darn, Merlyn's IT department was good.

"Take a deep breath and try again," she said to herself, but then panic took over.

XxXxXxX

Malcolm lay where Oliver had dropped him and stopped his breathing. The time to "die" had come. The second device would start operating within minutes, and the Glades would be gone for good.

He tried to slow down his heartbeat, but the intensity of his expectation made it go way too fast. He heard Oliver Queen approaching, took a hidden, very silent, calming breath to trick the boy into believing he was dead. Suddenly, someone in the Vigilante's commlink said something that made him stop, turn around and walk back.

Oh yes.

They were trying to disable the second device. Malcolm smirked. They could not stop it. He had to refocus on slowing down his breathing and heartbeat, not get too excited. They must believe he was dead. He looked above at the starlit sky and closed his eyes. He slowly reached up to his overcoat and activated a hidden GPS tracker button to alert his two emergency associates that extraction time was approaching.

XxXxXxX

Felicity hacked for a living. And now, she had to perform the hack of her life.

She had thought she would pass out when she found out there was a second Markov device. _And_ that she now was within the earthquake's reach. She kept her mind focused on the task at hand, located the device and stopped breathing for a very long time. Whoa, Malcolm Merlyn was one heck of an opponent.

This device had been activated the moment she disabled the first one. The screens went crazy, lights in the room started blinking as she pushed the button to get extra power for her computers.

It wouldn't go down like it did when she had performed her previous hack.

Time for some special Felicity Smoak… tricks. She entered a code on a Hail Mary.

It failed, then she modified it and whispered the Hail Mary again. It worked. She was in. She disabled the second device _seconds_ before it hit the ground.

"Oliver, it's down. The second Markov device." She practically collapsed in the chair by her computer after she delivered the message.

"Good job, Felicity," she heard Oliver say in his Vigilante voice before he switched off the comm.

Oliver Queen walked over to Merlyn, who had almost slowed down his heartbeat to zero.

Almost.

"It's done. Your grand earthquake is not happening," Oliver said flatly, then leaned over and checked Merlyn's pulse. It was there. Slow, but present. "And you are not dead. Alive to see your grand plan fail."

Malcolm hesitated, then allowed himself a slow, deep breath.

And earned kick after kick, after kick, for his effort. All of them delivered precisely by Oliver Queen.

Malcolm felt his ribs break, and there came a time when he no longer even had the strength to cry out.

At some point it ended… Not the pain, but the blows from the person inflicting it.

The Dark Archer lay on his back, slowly losing consciousness as the Vigilante stood triumphant over him.

Merlyn looked up and felt surprised at how wicked the boy's smile could get.

"It's over. And so are you." Oliver said.

Malcolm could not respond, his breath and ability to speak failed him. Oliver's face kept melting into Robert's features. He moved his gaze away from the boy's eyes, which were filled with so much hate and rage.

All he could see as he turned away now was the black sky and the stars above.

They seemed to be falling as Malcolm's gaze lost its focus.

One by one…

Falling…

Falling stars…


	2. Prisoner

Chapter 2: Prisoner.

Author's Note:

Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter! And please REVIEW! I live for reviews.

This one was a long time coming, and I'm sorry to have kept you waiting… But - there's a catch:

each review is like fuel for my writing, so - don't hesitate and drop a line! :)

Now, I made sure this chappy was something you haven't expected.

It comes with a warning though.

WARNING: DARK THEMES

DEDICATED TO: Bloodsong 13T, my amazing friend and beta!

* * *

><p>XxXxXxX<p>

The Dark Archer regained consciousness and slowly looked around. He was in a large room with metal walls, having only a prison-like, barred door for an entrance. There was no bed, no amenities. He lay on the floor as if tossed there carelessly. He tried to take a deep breath, but the stabbing pain in his chest informed him that more than one of his ribs had been fractured.

Oliver Queen stood on the other side of the bars with his hood on, watching Merlyn, bow in hand. The bodyguard was there as well, ever present at his _master's_ side, the Dark Archer thought sarcastically, his head spinning, vision going in and out of focus.

Diggle entered the cage and promptly emptied a bucket of cold water on Malcolm's head to make sure he stayed awake, then exited without a second glance, leaving the two arch-enemies alone.

The Vigilante walked in as Malcolm slowly lifted himself to all fours, shaking the water off, snarling and spitting. _Like a dog_, he thought with a tinge of humiliation, but at least the cold shower had worked to make him feel a little bit more conscious. He tried to push himself off the floor, but Oliver kicked him viciously, probably fracturing another force propelled him into the cell wall, and the impact knocked all the air out of his lungs.

"Welcome, Mr. Merlyn," Oliver said with mock politeness, his voice changer on, as he loomed over Malcolm threateningly. "Please make yourself comfortable. Your rescue team won't be arriving for you anytime soon."

The Dark Archer quickly patted his blood-soaked overcoat, but the tracker he'd activated was gone. They must have found it and destroyed it while he'd been unconscious. His two emergency associates would have no idea where he'd disappeared to. Kevin and Tim were not going to be able to track him here, wherever 'here' was. This time, he was completely on his own.

"So tell me, how does it feel to fail?" Triumph and barely contained fury tinged the Vigilante's tone, magnified by the voice changer.

Malcolm disregarded the quip and kept trying to get into a less vulnerable position. He propped himself onto his hands and knees, but Oliver slammed him down with his bow. Seconds later, the Vigilante's boot connected painfully with his side and his back hit the wall again. He felt the coppery taste of blood fill his mouth and he coughed. It seemed as if his lungs were about to burst. The boy walked back toward the exit and turned. Merlyn's eyes flashed to Oliver as he heard him draw his bow. "Say something!" the young archer yelled, aiming directly at him.

Malcolm couldn't utter a single word.

Suddenly, he felt an arrow hit exactly the same spot where Oliver had stabbed him on the Merlyn Global roof.

It was beyond pain.

He gasped as the impact pinned him even more firmly to the wall. He heard the Vigilante approaching.

Oliver grabbed the arrow and pulled it out slowly, pushing against the Dark Archer's chest with his other hand for leverage. Malcolm cried out in agony, but the boy did not relent.

He walked back to the door and aimed his bow again.

"Tell me what justifies your actions, Merlyn!"

Silence reigned as the Dark Archer tried to catch enough air for at least one full breath.

He felt the second arrow hit him, a little above the one before.

Oliver approached again and pulled out the arrow, once more pressing against his enemy's fractured ribs.

"Ready to speak?" the Vigilante asked sharply, but all Malcolm managed to do was cough up more blood and release another grunt of pain.

Oliver walked back to the bars, turned in a flash, aimed at a slightly different angle and shot again, this time hitting the Dark Archer's right shoulder. This arrow penetrated deeper than the others. The broadhead sliced through muscle and tendon and slammed into bone, shocking a cry from his throat.

"Tell me what justifies kidnapping and interrogating an innocent man!" the Vigilante demanded, stomping over to his prisoner yet again.

He seized the arrow just below the fletching and started to pull, ever so slowly this time. The broadhead was stuck deep, so for a moment he had to press hard around the wound with his free hand as he wedged the tip out of the bone. Then the green-coated metal ripped through Malcolm's flesh millimeter by millimeter, damaging even more tissue. His body spasmed; the fingers of his left hand entwined around Oliver's forearm in a desperate attempt to stop the movement.

The boy's eyes flashed to Merlyn's and held them. A crooked smile appeared on his mouth as he tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow in a mock-challenging expression. He stopped pulling the arrow, but turned his wrist so that the broadhead twisted inside the wound. Malcolm choked on a cry of agony, but Oliver's free hand pressed down on his chest, while his gaze moved pointedly to where the other man's fingers dug into his forearm.

The message was clear. The Vigilante had total control over what was going to happen. Any attempt at resistance would only result in more pain. Malcolm let go quickly as if the green leather was burning his fingers. Oliver nodded and started pulling again. Then, as the broadhead was just beneath the skin, his eyes narrowed with a glint of malice. In a flash, he twisted his wrist once more and tore the arrow all the way out.

Malcolm's body writhed and he grabbed at his shoulder with his left hand. "No," he gasped hoarsely. No, not this… This damage could cripple him. These were the very muscles he needed to pull his bow.

Oliver stared at the arrow in his hand, panting. The shaft was slick with blood; the bright red liquid contrasted sharply with the dull green metal. It dripped down onto the concrete floor next to Merlyn' s crumpled form. Oliver tossed the arrow aside and his eyes flashed back to his enemy.

"Tell me what justifies murdering hundreds of innocent people!" The Vigilante leaned over him, ready to listen or to draw back and aim his bow again.

Malcolm could not tear his gaze away from the blood spilling through his fingers where they clutched the devastating wound. The whole world seemed to run with rivers of crimson. He barely registered Oliver's question; the shock that started to take hold of him was just too overwhelming. He struggled for even an ounce of breath and it finally came, in ragged, broken gasps. He had to find something, anything to say to the boy, who had clearly given in to fury and hatred, and was now lethally unpredictable.

The Dark Archer knew he would not survive another arrow. His mind frantically searched for words, even as the light in the room grew dimmer. And words failed him yet again this evening – him, the master of speeches… He could hear Oliver's rapid, impatient breathing as the boy leaned over him, only seconds left until he would march back to the entrance and aim his bow for the final time. "No...," Merlyn whispered. "Nothing..." The hand that gripped the wound dropped lifelessly to the floor as crimson gave way to blackness.

XxXxXxX

When Malcolm woke up, the foremost thing that registered in his awareness was ever-present, overwhelming pain. He tried to push it back like he'd been taught, but it took all of his willpower to tear his focus away from this level of agony and try to get his bearings. He was lying on a bed, in a different room with a full metal door instead of bars. A bucket stood in the corner.

This looked familiar… After a beat, he realized the cell was arranged exactly as Walter Steele's had been when he had kidnapped him. Oliver had clearly developed a sense of irony on the Island.

Blood from the shots the Vigilante had delivered kept oozing into the sheets; Malcolm's wounds had been left completely untended. How much time could have passed since…? The images of arrows lodging themselves into his flesh and then being brutally torn out made his eyes squeeze shut as he shook his head in denial. Not him, not like this… His brain ran through all the repercussions of the wound to his right shoulder and something in his mind refused to believe it. Impossible. And yet the pain, the blood, the damage were real.

However, Malcolm was anything if not stubborn, so he tried to lift himself up again, but the pain remained unrelenting. His fractured ribs made every movement feel like a stab to the chest. He collapsed back onto the bed, his blood staining the mattress crimson even faster. He lay still, breathing raggedly and trying to keep his head from spinning.

No more than ten minutes later, the door opened and the Vigilante walked in with Diggle.

"Feeling comfortable?" Oliver asked, voice changer on, anger still boiling under this attempt at a sarcastic quip.

Clearly, not a lot of time had passed since the… events in the other cell. Malcolm felt both emotionally and physically too exhausted to answer. The bloodloss was making him dizzy and his limbs felt like cotton.

He wondered idly if they would just let him slowly bleed here to death, checking occasionally whether he was still breathing, goading him in his final moments. A slightly anti-climactic ending to such passionately begun torment, he thought cynically. Or maybe the Vigilante would start using him as target practice again, shooting every time Merlyn failed to answer his questions? He glanced over at Oliver, but the boy had no bow with him now. Still, he kept his hood on.

"Wh… What do you want?" Malcolm managed hoarsely.

"What do I want?" Oliver mocked with feigned surprise. "I believe the question here is what do you want, Mr. Merlyn," he said sarcastically. "For example, you probably want those wounds there tended to, you most likely want some water…" He drifted off tantalizingly.

The Dark Archer just stared with an unfocused gaze, his jaw clenched in an effort not to let out another moan of pain as he shifted on the bed.

"You will be accommodated, of course. You are my guest, after all." The boy continued in a less angry, but somehow more sinister tone. Malcolm suddenly felt very surreal. What had happened to the Oliver Queen he had known as his son's cheeky little playmate, then the reckless, naive playboy who cared only about booze and parties? The man who now stood in front of him was a complete stranger. Had the Island changed him that much?

"I believe we should take care of the bloodloss first," the Vigilante said, almost clinically. Something in his tone sent shivers down Malcolm's spine.

Diggle approached Merlyn, sat down on the side of the bed, then pulled him roughly into a sitting position and begun tearing off his Dark Archer leathers, paying no attention to his stifled gasps of pain, until the overcoat was nothing but a rag on the floor. The battered protective vest he wore underneath landed next to it by the bed.

Merlyn was left only in his blood-soaked black shirt and trousers. He felt as if he were naked. His eyes drifted over to the Kevlar on the floor, riddled with arrow-holes. A lot of good it had done him against Oliver's shots. Well, after all, he wore it in case the Dark Archer ever had a run-in with the police; it was designed to protect mainly against bullets, not arrows.

"Now you will come with us." Oliver threw over his shoulder casually as he turned on his heel and walked out of the cell.

Diggle dragged Merlyn brutally to his feet, ignoring his inadvertent but unavoidable grunt of pain, grabbed him around the waist for support, sending blasts of fiery agony through his chest, and led him firmly out of the room. It seemed to Malcolm as if they were walking forever; he stumbled through the dimly lit corridor, barely managing to put one foot in front of the other.

Finally, they reached their destination and the bodyguard dropped him into a hard chair that stood in the middle of a dark industrial hall. The only light came from an immense furnace burning in the wall on the right. The flames were darker than the usual bright orange and yellow of a home fireplace; sometimes they took on a blood red hue. Shadows twisted in a macabre dance of distorted, diabolical shapes on the floor. Malcolm felt an icy knot forming in his stomach, but was unable to look away. Diggle tied his arms and legs to the chair with a bitingly harsh rope, pulling him out of the trance.

Oliver was standing some distance away, waiting for his sidekick to finish preparing their prisoner. When Diggle was done, he approached the chair and stood in front of Merlyn.

"As you well know, there are many ways of stopping bloodloss and avoiding infection." The Vigilante addressed him in the manner of a university professor, or a doctor. "Some have been known and used effectively for centuries, while others are quite modern." Malcolm felt very surreal again at hearing this dispassionate tone from the boy's mouth, but he also found himself gripped by a sense of foreboding.

Suddenly, Oliver switched off his voice changer and removed his hood.

He glanced briefly straight into Merlyn's eyes, then started pacing in front of the chair. "You see, on the Island, which you so graciously sentenced me to…" Despite the lack of electronic alteration, the young archer's tone retained its grating, steely edge. "There was no access to modern medicine. Modern anything, actually. And forget anesthesia. So when I got injured, for instance, I had to rely on… more primitive forms of treatment." He let that sink in as his eyes bore into Merlyn's again, longer this time, shining with hate and a hint of maleficent expectation.

"Let's see how the famous Dark Archer fares with one of them," the boy finished, then directed his steps towards the furnace. Diggle's hands suddenly shot out from behind and ripped open Merlyn's shirt, sending the buttons flying, baring his chest and shoulders.

Oliver returned with a long metal rod, its tip red-hot, and Malcolm's eyes widened with shock as he realized what Oliver planned to do.

He was going to stop his bloodloss by _cauterizing _the wounds with fire. Not only would it be horrendously painful, but it would more than likely exacerbate the damage the arrows had already done to his muscles.

Despite his bonds and the pain each movement brought him, Malcolm made a hopeless, desperate attempt to back away with the chair. He managed to only slide a few centimeters and then the remnants of his strength abandoned him. He kicked frantically to loosen at least one of the ropes tied around his legs, but they were as firm as iron.

"Hold him still." Oliver instructed, and Diggle obliged, pulling Malcolm's neck into a vise-like grip with one arm, in a very similar manner to the way the Dark Archer had grabbed Oliver on the Merlyn Global roof. Malcolm felt the veins in his throat pulsate as he strained to move his head, with no bodyguard squeezed tightly underneath his chin, but did not go for the choke. Clearly, they wanted him conscious for this.

"No." Merlyn managed in a low, hoarse growl, his eyes dark and wild, like an animal's, before a piece of wood was shoved between his teeth to bite down on. He was still doggedly trying to slither out of Diggle's grip.

"Don't struggle. There isn't any doubt in the outcome." Oliver said in a low, calm voice, echoing the words the Dark Archer had spoken to him on the Merlyn Global roof.

Malcolm froze at the remembrance and Oliver used this moment of complete immobility to jam the rod deep into the first wound he had inflicted. The muffled roar that echoed throughout the hall made Diggle flinch and turn his head away. It cut off suddenly as Malcolm's voice gave out and he slumped in Diggle's grip, the smell of his own burning flesh hitting his nostrils. He started panting heavily, sweat pouring down his body.

Oliver looked at the wound to check his handiwork – it was no longer bleeding.

As he prepared to move on to the one above it, he made a point of catching Merlyn's unfocused, frantic gaze.

"Now, that went well. But if you resist this time, it will take longer. I may even hit the wrong spot if you slip out of Diggle's grasp, and I will have to do it all over again. I don't mind, but something tells me you might," Oliver said with a hint of satisfaction.

Malcolm's whole body tensed again. He gripped the armrests so tightly his knuckles went white, and closed his eyes. Seconds later another distorted, grating growl echoed throughout the hall, even though the Dark Archer had thought he had no voice left in him anymore and wanted desperately to deny them the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Hell, he had been taught how to disregard pain, but as of late, not even his own body wanted to work the way it was supposed to.

Only one wound remained. His right shoulder muscle. The one he used... had used to pull his bow. The wound that hurt and bled the most. Malcolm instinctively started fighting the ropes binding his wrists and of course got nowhere. His heart was hammering; the hum of blood in his ears drowned out almost every other sound.

"Hold him tighter Diggs; this one will be tricky."

Merlyn's breaths came in ragged gasps, the air hissing through the piece of wood and he was starting to shake from shock again. If he could be granted one wish right now, it would be that the past 48 hours had never happened. But time was relentless, just like his enemy, who now 'tended' to his wounds using the cruelest medieval methods.

Diggle's grip tightened into an even more vice-like hold while his other arm bound Merlyn's abdomen to prevent him from arching his back or twisting around. Malcolm's entire body tensed again. This time he stared at the rod as it approached the wound and closed his eyes seconds before it embedded itself in the flesh.

The _howl_ that escaped his mouth then was truly animalistic. The wound was deep and large, so the cauterization took longer than the previous ones; Malcolm thought Oliver would never finish. The Vigilante was mercilessly precise in his ministrations. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was over.

Oliver took the rod back to the furnace as Diggle released his grip on Malcolm and moved away, coming back in a few seconds with a bottle of water. Malcolm spat out the piece of wood he'd almost bitten through. His throat was so raw from screaming that each gulp felt like scalding acid, but the thirst was stronger.

Merlyn's head slumped forward after he drank, and he felt as if he was about to drift into unconsciousness again.

"I believe a period of rest is necessary," Oliver said in the same detached tone he had used earlier.

A period of rest before what? Malcolm started to wonder, but his mind wouldn't focus and he let the thought drift away. He felt the ropes on his wrists and ankles being loosened and untied, then Diggle manhandled him out of the chair and led him back toward the cell. Malcolm only managed to notice that the sheets had been changed from the ones he had bled into and then collapsed onto the bed.

His cauterized wounds were like living fire. Apparently Oliver's 'hospitality' did not include a burn salve. Malcolm's right shoulder muscle felt as if it had been split in two. The rest of his injuries somehow melted into one indistinguishable, crushing wall of pain.

As he lay there in a strange type of limbo - not fully awake and yet unable to fall asleep – his mind started flashing back to various events from the months and years leading up to the failed Undertaking.

The cloudless blue sky on the day the Queen's Gambit sailed out on its last voyage.

The meeting during which he triumphantly informed the Group that their plans were so close to fruition.

The begging form of Doctor Markov and the other Unidac scientists as he shot them one by one, eliminating loose ends.

The frozen grimace of shock on Frank Chen's dead face after he received an arrow to the back for his betrayal.

The disbelief on Tommy's face after he'd seen Malcolm kill the men who had attacked them on the night of the assassination attempt.

His toast with Moira on the eve of the Devices' arrival to Starling…

The scenes flashed one after the other – jumbled, out of order, and with each passing second seemed more and more unreal to Malcolm, as if they had never truly happened. They may as well not have, what with the gigantic failure they had resulted in.

XxXxXxX

He must have dozed off at some point, because the images had stopped and only the metallic click of his cell door being opened dragged him out from peaceful darkness. He blinked his eyes in the harsh artificial light and saw only the bodyguard walking through the entrance.

"Rested a bit?" Diggle asked casually, clearly not caring for an answer, so Malcolm didn't offer any.

"It's time to get you hydrated," Oliver's sidekick informed him as he pulled him roughly up into a sitting position.

"Put this on." He tossed him a clean, but worn out black shirt to replace the one he had torn before they'd cauterized the wounds. Malcolm slowly took off the bloodied rag it had now become, his muscles and ribs protesting with each movement. He hoped Diggle wouldn't decide to 'help' him along with his usual subtlety. He buttoned up as fast as his shaking fingers would allow. The fresh shirt made him feel marginally better, even though his skin was still covered with streaks of caked blood.

As soon as he was done, the bodyguard gripped his left arm and hoisted him up into a standing position, then led him out of the cell. They walked up to a smaller hall, which mercifully had no furnace. Oliver was leaning against one of the concrete walls, his hood back on, waiting.

Diggle sat Malcolm in a chair that stood in the middle, but this time did not tie him to it, at least for now. The Vigilante detached himself from the wall and walked up to a nearby table, poured some water into a glass and offered it to Merlyn.

"We fixed the bloodloss, now it's time to take care of hydration," he said tonelessly, voice changer switched on again.

Malcolm accepted the glass, but did not drink right away. Instead, he looked straight into Oliver's eyes. The boy lifted his eyebrows.

"May I ask you a question?" Merlyn said, his voice still hoarse from all the screaming. The Vigilante hesitated for a bit, then nodded.

"Why not just turn me over to the police and let the justice system take care of everything? Why bring me here?"

Oliver snorted. "It's so funny to hear you say the word 'justice.' You don't deserve any. Or a fair trial during which you would surely try to weasel your way out of responsibility, hiding behind an army of faithful lawyers. Even if you did end up going to prison, whatever they would do to you there couldn't even compare to what I can do. You've already seen… and felt an example."

Silence reigned. Malcolm had nothing to say in response to this, so he drank his water. He finished it in a few gulps, but was still parched. His mouth felt as if it were full of ash from that hellish furnace, his throat lined with thorns. He licked his lips; they were cracked and stung from the salty droplets of sweat that had poured down his face.

He noticed Oliver observing him curiously, as if a man drinking water was the most fascinating sight in the world.

Something was wrong, the Dark Archer sensed, the familiar cold tug of foreboding spreading inside his chest.

Suddenly, he started to feel very strange. His tense muscles relaxed, the room and the men's faces got blurry; the floor seemed to be shifting… It was too abrupt and atypical to be just an effect of bloodloss. Several seconds later, he heard a pounding in his ears; his heartbeat accelerated dramatically and became uneven. The empty glass fell from his hand, shattered on the floor. His limbs felt ten times heavier. He seemed to move in slow motion as he turned his head back toward the Vigilante.

Oliver approached, a dark smile on his face.

Merlyn's racing heart skipped another beat as he realized the water must have been laced with something.

The morbid grin on the boy's face confirmed his suspicions.

Poison?

Malcolm felt even more out of control. He was cold, and yet droplets of sweat ran down his brow. His thoughts insisted on spinning around randomly. He struggled to search his memory for all the properties of the poisons he'd learned about during his time with the League and it finally hit him.

Scopolamine. The water must have been laced with scopolamine.

The truth serum. After they had dosed him with it, he had to tell the truth, no matter what they asked, no matter how much he would hurt himself by answering. A voice in the back of his head kept screaming in protest, but it was behind a thick glass wall that seemed to bend and not break as his rational mind attempted to pound through.

"Don't try to fight it," the Vigilante advised calmly. "It will be less painful once you give in."

Then the interrogation started.

Oliver paced in front of the chair for a bit, then asked Merlyn about Nanda Parbat.

Malcolm wondered for a moment how Oliver even knew such a place existed, but before he could recover from his surprise, the drug forced him to start speaking.

Even as he narrated his journey and training, he tried to be as unnoticeably vague as possible. The League had taught him ways of twisting the truth, even under the influence of drugs, so certain key bits and pieces of information remained hidden. Besides, scopolamine was known to be a capricious, not fully reliable drug.

He paused abruptly as a realization hit him, a stricken look on his face.

_Tommy._ That's how Oliver knew about Nanda Parbat. Tommy was the only one Malcolm had mentioned it to, first when he was in the hospital after the assassination attempt, then again the night the earthquake was supposed to have happened. Tommy had clearly shared this information with his best friend.

Tears he had not expected suddenly burned in Malcolm's eyes and he tried desperately to blink them away even as he resumed his narrative, trying to focus on the manipulation techniques he'd been taught. Still, the pain that squeezed his chest at the thought of his son felt as if someone were twisting a dagger inside. Tommy hated him _so_ much that he revealed the deepest secret of his soul to his worst enemy, one who intended to torture and probably kill him.

He found himself thinking on two mind planes simultaneously. One was the scopolamine-induced flow of recollections and the maneuvers to avoid revealing all in answer to Oliver's questioning, the other the agony he felt over Tommy's ultimate betrayal, the failure of the Undertaking, his own devastating injuries.

His voice got hoarse, and Diggle offered him another glass of water. Malcolm's hands felt so heavy that the bodyguard had to pour it down his throat himself. He drank without hesitation. He was so thirsty he did not care if it was also laced with scopolamine, but he supposed it wasn't. Judging from the effects he was feeling already, the initial dose had been enough.

He was so exhausted and deprived of food that at some point he passed out. He woke up in a half-lucid state a while later, back in his cell, only to face yet another wave of flashbacks from the distant and not-so-distant past.

XxXxXxX

The interrogations continued.

The first one seemed mild compared to the ones that followed. His captors now combined scopolamine with injections of morphine, which was believed to enhance its effects. They used code names for the drugs they administered so that he wouldn't know what they were giving him, but the effects of this one were obvious enough to guess. It made Malcolm even more woozy and confused, so that he found it horrendously difficult to twist the truth and slipped up quite a few times with bits of information he would have preferred to keep to himself.

The only positive aspect of this alteration was that morphine also dulled the pain. However, he was no longer allowed to rest in his cell each time he passed out. Instead, they used some sort of stimulant to keep him awake. As soon as he started drifting off, either Oliver or Diggle would jam a syringe into his arm and he'd be dragged back to consciousness. They'd also taken to putting him in restraints again, because the stimulant resulted in an extremely strong urge to move around. It must have counteracted the anaesthetic effect of morphine as well; each injection made the pain return with double force. Malcolm's eyes burned from lack of sleep and his body screamed for the relief of rest, while unable to stay still. These two opposite forces were tearing his system apart. At times, he thought he was about to go insane.

Oliver asked a barrage of questions about the Undertaking and other people involved in it. Malcolm managed to avoid mentioning certain members of the Group, but some key players' names were revealed.

They gave him minimal food rations; only stale bread, water and sometimes milk – enough to keep him alive, yet too weak to attempt an escape.

When they finally brought him back to his cell for 'rest', they injected him with a sleeping drug. Unfortunately, its main effect consisted of horrid hallucinations or nightmares that occasionally made Malcolm unable to distinguish between what was real and what was imagined. He wondered what other drugs they were administering. The code names confused him, especially that some of the effects probably overlapped or influenced each other. Amphetamine, cocaine, mephedrone, some special exotic concoctions Oliver had learned to prepare on the Island? The Vigilante clearly knew his way around drugs and so did his Special Forces-trained sidekick. The bodyguard probably also knew a lot about torturing prisoners.

Eventually, Merlyn's sense of time failed him completely. It seemed like weeks or even months since they brought him to this dark, metal and concrete hell.

He was allowed to shower once in a while, in cold water in a dirty bathroom, with rags for towels. Still, he found himself thankful; it was better than rolling around in his own blood and sweat. They also let him shave with an electric shaver, designed so that he couldn't turn it into a weapon against anyone even if he were an engineering genius. The cold water alleviated the burning from his cauterized wounds and helped him think a little more clearly for short periods of time. He was allowed to enter the bathroom alone, which was a small mercy that left him with a sliver of dignity.

The side-effects of drugs grew more pronounced as they saturated his system and interacted with each other. He was tormented by bouts of shaking that almost turned into convulsions and delirium-like visions. His scant meals often ended with a quick trip to the bucket in the corner because he was unable to keep his food down. Nausea, dizziness, and pain were now his constant companions.

At night, (at least he assumed it was night when they finally delivered him back to his cell), he hallucinated almost constantly. There was no such thing as restful sleep or a moment of peace to just lie still and calm down. It seemed that a ghoul of every person he had ever killed visited him in these nightmares, pulling and snapping at him like zombies, black arrows still sticking out of their bodies. He had forgotten some of them; there had been so many... Now, it appeared that each one had decided to come back and claim their due of his attention. They spoke in demonic screeches and dragged him out of the cell; their claw-like hands emerged from the walls and pulled him out through them into abysmal landscapes or surrealistic versions of Starling's back alleys he had once prowled as the Dark Archer.

Sometimes his point of view shifted and he saw himself kill as if he were a third-person observer, but the most horrid illusions were those in which he _became_ his victims. His chest exploded with phantom pain each time a black arrow struck, and he either woke up bathed in cold sweat or sank deeper into a whirlpool of agony and madness.

Dreams intertwined with hours of wakefulness as his grasp of reality slipped further and further away. He fought desperately to hold onto the remaining slivers of sanity, but they became increasingly elusive. It disrupted the interrogations. Sometimes, when he saw Oliver, the boy's face melted into Robert's and there were moments he didn't even recognize the bodyguard.

XxXxXxX

Diggle yawned as he fished in his pocket for the key to open Merlyn's cell. It was 6 am; he'd spent most of the night helping Oliver dismantle a notorious heroin dealer's operation, which wrapped up at about 3. John suggested gingerly that they postpone the Dark Archer's interrogation session a few hours to get more sleep, but Oliver was adamant that it should go on as scheduled.

Stale air hit him as he entered, and he wondered for a moment how anyone could breathe in here at all. The ventilation fan was on a minimum setting, as per Oliver's instructions. Only just enough oxygen not to suffocate.

Merlyn lay curled on his left side with his back towards the door. He was mumbling something into the pillow, but stopped at the sound of Diggle's footsteps. The food that had been left for him the previous evening remained untouched in the corner.

"Rise and shine!" The bodyguard said loudly in mock cheerfulness. It had become his habit to start with some sort of silly humorous quip whenever he came to collect their prisoner. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism against the increasingly morbid atmosphere of the place."No more moping around in bed for you."

Merlyn shifted around to face him, his moves sluggish and awkward. He tried to prop himself up, using just his left arm for leverage, but only made it so far before he collapsed back onto the pillow. Diggle sighed impatiently and grabbed Merlyn by the shoulders, dragged him into a sitting position, then moved on to support his back to keep him steady. "Come on, we don't have all day. Time to get up and make yourself useful."

Merlyn looked at him and shook his head slowly. "I can't go with you, Mr. Diggle," he said in an unnaturally polite tone. _Well, at least this time, he recognizes me, _John consoled himself.

"They don't want me to," Malcolm added quietly.

"What?" Diggle furrowed his brow in confusion.

Merlyn turned his head toward the wall; his unhealthily bright gaze grew distant, as if he were looking at something on the other side. "Don't you see? They won't let me go." The bodyguard felt goose bumps rise on his skin at the expression in Merlyn's eyes. He shook himself and slapped the prisoner across the face to break up whatever trance he was in this time. He grabbed him around the waist and pulled him to his feet.

"Enough of this nonsense. There's nobody there. Now move."

The slap seemed to have made Merlyn more lucid, but his legs refused to cooperate, so Diggle had to practically drag him down the corridor and into the interrogation hall. Finally, he dropped him in the chair and bound his arms and legs to it, perhaps with more force than usual. The rope bit into the already torn skin. Merlyn grunted, but Diggle didn't let up. Perhaps the additional pain would help keep him clear-headed for the questioning.

Oliver stood by the table, filling a syringe with morphine.

"I think we need to modify the mixture a little today," Diggle said quietly as he went up to his friend. "He's been acting kinda out of it again."

"This early in the day?" Oliver thought for a moment, then grabbed a baggie filled with a greenish powder. "Add a teaspoon of this to his L29 water."

"What is it?" Diggle asked as he took a glass and began preparing the prisoner's morning 'cocktail'. "Another one of your magic herbs from the Island?"

"Something like that. It should help keep him more focused." John glanced over at Oliver, sensing a slight tinge of uncertainty in his voice. It wasn't the first time he wondered how much of what Oliver gave Malcolm was pure experimentation based on some lore he'd learned on the Island. It certainly went far beyond anything Diggle had been taught during his Special Forces training.

He went over to the prisoner to deliver the concoction. Merlyn raised his eyebrows at the liquid's greenish hue, but drank it without protest when Diggle put the glass to his mouth. They'd done this enough times for him to have learned that the bodyguard had ways of making him take the medication, no matter how violently he tried to resist. A few seconds later, Oliver injected the morphine.

They waited several minutes for the drugs to take effect, then the interrogation started.

This time, Oliver delved more deeply into the exact mechanics of the Devices' production. Merlyn had been ingenious in his arrangements to prevent anyone from discovering his connection to the earthquake. Almost each part of the Device was manufactured by a separate company that usually went bankrupt or disappeared after they had served their purpose. Their connection to Unidac Industries was carefully concealed beneath a maze of shell corporations and dead-end ventures. Diggle could see that due to Oliver's checkered past with business colleges, he often had difficulty following Malcolm's explanations. Fortunately, they were recording each session on a dictaphone. It could be analyzed later or used as evidence of the billionaire's crimes.

Everything went smoothly for a few hours, but then Merlyn started to lose focus. He mixed up dates and numbers, backtracked and seemed confused as to the names of certain people. He started drifting off into useless digressions or simply stared off into space without saying anything. His eyelids drooped and he yawned constantly. Oliver grew impatient and instructed Diggle to inject Malcolm with the stimulant. It improved things for about three hours, but then they deteriorated abysmally.

"Ten more milligrams of N97, Diggs," Oliver said with a sigh as Malcolm's head slumped forward again and he started drifting off in the middle of a sentence. The bodyguard prepared the syringe and jammed it into the prisoner's arm. His skin was riddled with marks of previous injections; they would soon run out of veins to stick the needles into.

It took Merlyn longer and longer to come back to relative lucidity after each shot of the stimulant. Clearly, his body was developing a tolerance for it. He lifted his head and stared at each of them without focus, pupils dilated so much that his eyes appeared to be black instead of blue.

"So what was the name of that shell company you used to manufacture timers for the Devices?" the Vigilante prompted impatiently.

Merlyn blinked a few times as if he had not understood the question. "How...How do you know about this?" He furrowed his brows in suspicion.

"You were just talking about-!" Oliver started impatiently, but Malcolm cut him off.

"Have you been spying on me, Robert?"

Oliver rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I'm not R-"

"It's just as I suspected, you are trying to sabotage this entire operation. What do I have to do to convince you that we need to destroy that rathole?"

Oliver's fists clenched and his face twisted in anger. "Those are _human beings_ out there, not rats! Each one of them is worth a hundred times more than you!"

Merlyn drew back a little, a look of genuine surprise and hurt on his face. "Why are you acting like this? Have you forgotten what they did, to all of us?"

Diggle watched as Oliver's devotion to his cause made him lose track of the true purpose of this questioning and get dragged into a debate with a delirious man.

"So you want to wipe out an entire population for the sins of a few?!"

"That place took your soul, Robert."

Oliver's brows furrowed in confusion.

Malcolm's gaze grew distant. "I still remember the look on your face when you came to me that day... Empty eyes…" Both Oliver and Diggle looked at him expectantly, but he didn't continue, sinking into his own world.

"Merlyn?" Oliver prompted when the silence dragged on.

The prisoner looked over at him with an unseeing gaze. He whispered something, but neither Diggle nor his friend could hear it. They stepped up closer. "What?" Oliver asked sharply.

"Hydra…," Malcolm repeated slowly. "It's like a… Like a hydra… You chop one head off and… and two more appear…" He chuckled madly, then his face suddenly grew serious. He tried to lift his hand, probably to reach out to Oliver, but the restraints stopped him. "You… You have such empty eyes." He dropped his gaze to the floor. "So hollow…"

"This is useless." Oliver turned on his heel and walked towards the table. "Take him back to the cell, Diggs; I'm sick of it."

Diggle untied the prisoner, hefted him out of the chair and led him toward the exit. Some residue of the stimulant must have still been working, because he stayed on his feet. John only grabbed him by the arm to steer him in the right direction. Merlyn's steps reminded him of a sleepwalker's.

When they were in the corridor, about midway to the cell, Malcolm stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Diggle, his muscles tensing visibly. "Wh-Who are you? Where are you taking me?" His tone was sharp, but his eyes showed nothing but absolute confusion.

The bodyguard was truly tired of these delirious mind-shifts, so he grabbed Merlyn's arm harder, put his free hand on his back and pushed to force him to start walking again. "It doesn't matter. I'm taking you where you belong," he growled. He dragged Merlyn all the way to the cell, shoved him inside and slammed the door closed.

When he returned to the hall, Oliver was packing up the baggies and vials into cardboard boxes. "We're getting nowhere with this. I'm pulling his drugs for a while," he announced.

Diggle raised his eyebrows in surprise. "All of them? Cold turkey? That is gonna be hell for him."

"Good," Oliver said coldly. "He doesn't deserve any mercy." He looked up at Diggle, his eyes dark.

"Your call." The bodyguard shrugged, not really caring one way or the other, and started gathering up used syringes to throw them into the trash.

XxXxXxX

Malcolm was woken up by a sharp, stabbing pain in his right shoulder. He gasped, shifting quickly to his back. He opened his eyes and waited for the ceiling to stop spinning. After a moment of absolute, panicky blankness, he realized where he was, but not how he'd gotten there.

The last thing he remembered was explaining some details of the Undertaking to Oliver in the interrogation hall. The rest was a jumbled mess: he recalled speaking to Robert, then a sense of tumbling down a dark tunnel into emptiness. The Vigilante's angry voice echoed in his ears. He must have started hallucinating in the middle of the interrogation again. How long ago was that? At least a few hours must have passed, since he managed to get enough sleep to start feeling fairly lucid again.

His throat was parched, so he sat up slowly and reached gingerly for a carton of milk that stood on a tray next to the bed. He emptied it quickly and thought he could use another one. He glanced over at the plate of bread, but the mere idea of food made his stomach turn.

He lay back down, careful not to put any pressure on his injured shoulder, and eventually drifted off again. When he woke up, a fresh tray with bread, water and milk stood next to the bed. He must have been really out to have slept through the delivery. He drank the water, deciding to leave the milk for later, and forced himself to eat a piece of the bread, even though every bite felt like ash in his mouth.

Something seemed odd. Malcolm knew he couldn't trust his sense of time, but it appeared that many hours had passed since his last interrogation, perhaps even an entire day and night.

Had he unwittingly told the Vigilante something that made him act against one of his associates? Or maybe Oliver's beloved Glades were terrorized by yet another criminal and he had to step in to save the day? Theories floated around in Malcolm's head as time ticked by and nothing happened. He sat on the edge of the bed, unable to lay still any longer.

What was going on with him? He should be grateful for this period of respite from the interrogations. Instead, he was growing more agitated by the minute. He ran his hands through his hair and when he lowered them back to his lap, he noticed they were trembling. He clenched them into fists and stood up to take a few steps around the cell. He felt weak, but found himself unable to stop pacing. At some point, he went up to the door and started listening for footsteps. His pulse accelerated. When he thought he heard a noise in the distance, his heart suddenly started hammering somewhere inside his throat. He waited several minutes with bated breath but silence reigned again.

He turned away from the door impatiently, angry at himself for his own lack of control. He sat on the bed in a cross-legged position. Maybe meditation would help. _Focus on your breath; slowly, in and out. Relax the muscles, one by one. Clear your mind; let the thoughts drift by, passing but not touching. Calm._

Flash of a green arrow slamming into his body: his breath turned into a startled gasp.

_Only a memory; don't let it take over. Breathe._

Flash of a hungry red flame as the burning rod buried itself in his flesh: his entire body spasmed.

_It isn't real; regain control. Breathe._

Flash of a ghoulish hand emerging from the wall and grabbing his throat: Malcolm suffered a choking fit that ended with him wheezing curled on his side on the floor.

He sat up and leaned his back against the bed, hugging himself. Inadvertently, he started massaging his forearms. He drew up his shirt sleeve and looked at the gash left on his wrist by the rope. It was a stinging, bloody mess, but his gaze swiftly wandered up to the puncture marks above. A wave of heat ran through him at the memory of the needle entering his vein, the cool liquid mixing with his blood, bringing release from pain and quenching the ever-present need for control. The sense of floating, the warm haze separating him from reality, blurring all the sharp edges…

He shook his head as if emerging from a deep pool of water. What the hell was he thinking? Was he actually _longing_ for the poison they'd pumped into him?

He stood up and lowered the sleeve, realizing only then that he was shaking, his shirt soaked with sweat. The metallic sound of his cell being opened made him quickly sit back down on the bed. He crossed his arms to hide the trembling.

Diggle entered with a fresh tray of food, put it down by the bed, and collected the old one.

He glanced over at Merlyn, who lowered his eyes quickly, but didn't manage to erase the expectant look on his face fast enough.

The bodyguard reached into his pocket and took out a syringe with a bluish liquid - the sleeping drug. "Waiting for this?" he asked, holding it up, but not taking off the cap. "Sorry, no bedtime cocktail for you tonight," he said, putting it away and turning toward the exit.

Malcolm threw him a contemptuous 'I don't care' glance, but his heart sank in disappointment.

As the door slammed shut, a wave of nausea ran through him and he hugged himself again.

He couldn't help but recall the blissful indifference that had enveloped him soon after each shot of the concoction, the oblivion that carried him off into a few hours of sleep before the inevitable nightmares began.

He covered his mouth with his hand and stared around the room as if looking at it for the first time, but didn't really see it. He was gripped by shock and panic. When had it happened? When had the disgust and horror at the chemicals they injected him with turned into acceptance and then anticipation? When had he stopped fighting the bonds?

He started pacing the room again, but quickly grew tired. The trembling became so pronounced it made walking difficult, so he curled up in bed beneath the blanket.

_Stop winding yourself up, think of something else, ANYTHING else._

But what was there to think about? The countless failures that piled up in his mind, the mountain of suffering and loss, the crushing weight of defeat and humiliation?

Every muscle in his body was coiled and tense. It felt as if a vise gripped his lower back, about to snap it. The shaking subsided occasionally, only to return with doubled force. His mouth burned from thirst, so he reached down for the water. He took a few sips, but another wave of nausea made him stumble to the bucket in the corner. He retched violently as his body emptied itself of the little he had ingested over the past 24 hours. He thought it would never stop. He crawled back to bed eventually and rinsed his mouth with water, spitting it out carelessly onto the floor, unable to bear the taste of vomit.

He lay down, completely exhausted; his body wasn't done tormenting him yet, though. He was shaking from cold, but when he covered himself up with the blanket, he got unbearable hot flashes that left the sheets and the pillow soaking with sweat. Blanket on, blanket off. Endlessly. He slammed his fists into the mattress and kicked out with his legs, letting out a roar of frustration.

It seemed that eternity had passed before he finally drifted off into a semblance of sleep.

Even without the drug, nightmares eventually found him, and he was dragged back into the world of ghouls and monsters. They welcomed him with leers twisting their rotted faces. The crowds parted before him, hissing and cackling; icy hands pushed him further through this macabre passage until he finally saw what waited at the end. An enormous, roaring furnace, its crimson flames licking the grille hungrily. The walls around it were alive with movement, criss-crossed by twisting lines. Each one emerged from the fire and pulsated madly with red liquid. Malcolm stared in horror as he realized that they were veins.

The crowd closed in around him and pushed him even more firmly towards the furnace. He could feel the heat of the flames burning his skin. He twisted around and tried to run in the opposite direction, punching and kicking at the monsters, elbowing them out of his way. He suddenly froze as he spotted Tommy standing among the ghouls, who seemed to pay him no mind. His son had a terrified, disbelieving look on his face.

"Tommy!" Malcolm screamed and darted through the masses toward the boy, but his progress was agonizingly slow. Then a pair of ghoulish hands grabbed him by the wrists and wouldn't allow him to pass any further. Tommy's face disappeared in the roiling crowd. Malcolm fought the monster, desperately trying to twist out of his grasp. "Let me go!" He yelled.

Suddenly the nightmarish landscape disappeared and he found himself back in his cell, facing Diggle, who was grasping his wrists, trying to wrestle him back down onto the bed. "No! Let me go!" he screamed again, but his resistance subsided. He reached forward and grabbed Diggle by the shirt. "Make them stop," he pleaded breathlessly.

The bodyguard pushed him down onto the bed, just as Oliver entered with a coil of rope.

"No!" Merlyn growled, but the strength he seemed to have possessed in his hallucination was gone now. He thrashed about helplessly as Diggle held him down while the Vigilante tied him firmly to the bed.

"You can't do this!" he grated hoarsely and tried to grab Oliver's hand, but the boy snapped out of his grasp and tightened the knot on his wrist. Diggle let go once he made sure Malcolm was firmly restrained. Both men turned around and left without saying a word or sparing a glance in his direction. He screamed for them to return, knowing it was useless.

His skin crawled as if insects were burrowing underneath. His bonds made it impossible to scratch, so he had to endure it, his back arching from the effort. He felt an overwhelming urge to get up, pace around, run and throw things. He thrashed about on the bed, only making the ropes bite deeper into his flesh. The scabbed wounds reopened and stained the sheets crimson.

He finally stopped struggling and lay still as time passed by, second by everlasting second. Sleep claimed him again at some point, but the dreamworld penetrated reality so smoothly that he only noticed it when the wall beside his bed disappeared, turning into a grey desert landscape.

There was no furnace, but ash floated in the air. The crowd of ghouls stood some distance away, throwing him wicked looks and whispering amongst themselves. Finally, a group of them separated from the rest and walked closer toward Malcolm, making no threatening movements, emitting no screeches. They stopped inches away from the invisible barrier between the worlds and parted.

Malcolm gasped in shock when he saw Tommy standing in their midst, his face ghastly pale. He was wearing the same shirt as on the night of the Undertaking, only now it was stained black with soot, as if he'd been too close to a fire or inside of a burning building. Blood trickled down his temple where Malcolm had struck him with the gun. He looked at his father with heart-wrenching sadness. "You left me," he said in a tone that was more regretful than accusatory.

His figure then morphed into that of the eight-year old boy he had once been. Tears mixed with soot on his deathly white face and blood also trickled down his temple, dripping onto the familiar light blue pyjamas that Rebecca had bought him.

Malcolm choked on a cry of anguish. "Tommy!" he tried desperately to reach out to his son, but the restraints stopped his hand almost millimeters away from the child's face.

"You left me," the boy echoed his grown-up self and took a few step backwards.

"Tommy!" Malcolm fought the ropes even more wildly, to no avail.

The child morphed back into adult Tommy, threw him one last, regretful look and turned to walk back with the group of ghouls.

A strong gust of wind made the ash dance wildly in the air, turning it into an impenetrable, grey cloud that took the retreating figures away from sight. Finally, it coalesced into the concrete wall of Malcolm's cell. "No!" he screamed and clawed at the wall madly until his fingertips bled, but the vision was gone.

He collapsed back onto the pillow, panting. What did this mean? Was it only a pointless hallucination or had something happened to Tommy? Malcolm's heart spasmed in his chest at the thought. Had he… killed his son on the night of the Undertaking? No, it was not possible. He had adjusted the strength of the blow so that it would only render Tommy unconscious for a while. He was a seasoned warrior; he'd done it hundreds of times before. Besides, he'd checked his son's pulse afterwards and it had been strong. But what if… What if he'd made a mistake in the heat of the moment? He'd been so drunk on the anticipation of his approaching triumph, so hellbent on making his dream a reality. What if there was internal bleeding and Tommy didn't wake up after all? No, this couldn't be true. These nightmares were making him paranoid. Still, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the unbearable uncertainty remained. He would ask Diggle or Oliver whenever they eventually decided to come back to his cell, and he'd know. They _had_ to tell him.

Malcolm had been so focused on analyzing his horrific vision he barely noticed the pinpricks of stinging pain that started deep in his lower back and spread out to his limbs. They increased in intensity until he could no longer ignore them. At first it felt like the generalized ache one might experience while having a flu, but kept on growing rapidly. It wasn't his muscles; it was lodged inside his bones. Bursts of electricity shot through his skeletal tissue, gradually passing each threshold of endurance. Malcolm squeezed the sheets in his fists and ground his teeth; the restraints prevented him from curling into a ball. His mind struggled to understand what was going on, then he remembered what he'd learned about various drugs and the effects of their discontinuation. He was experiencing opiate withdrawal from the lack of morphine. Merlyn thought he had come to know and learned to master every type of pain. The next several hours proved how very wrong he was.

The limbo of symptoms continued in cycles as he lay there, unable to even try to mitigate them, no matter how useless such attempts would be. Bouts of shaking intertwined with hot flashes; his heart hammered inside his chest and throat, his head pounded as if it was about to split open. Lightning travelled through his bones and countless nightmares invaded his mind.

He was so exhausted by this that he occasionally fell into a dark, dreamless semi-coma. He couldn't move or see anything but blackness, but it was a welcome state compared to the alternative. He became more aware of his real surroundings then, and focused on random noises, like the distant dripping of water or the hum of a ventilation fan.

XxXxXxX

Oliver stood outside the cell, silently watching Merlyn through the observation slot. The man seemed to be immersed in an uneasy sleep. He thrashed and twisted in his restraints, mumbling incoherently, sometimes letting out a moan or a stifled cry. His face was bathed in sweat and tremors travelled across his body every few minutes. At some point he opened his eyes, and stared blankly at the ceiling. Then his gaze moved to the wall on the left side of his bed. It seemed that he saw or heard something behind it because he lifted his head and his muscles tensed. Probably another hallucination, Oliver thought impassively.

Merlyn whispered something, staring intensely at the wall, then lifted his hand. He reached out as far as the little leeway on the rope allowed him, but clearly it wasn't enough. His nails dug into the concrete, leaving behind bloody marks as his hand slid down. From the similar traces nearby, Oliver deduced that this wasn't the first time Merlyn had tried this. Diggle had told him the wall seemed to act as their prisoner's connection to 'the other world' his drug-addled mind had created.

It'd been six days since he pulled Merlyn's drugs, and this was the first time the Vigilante had come near the cell, except for that incident four days ago when Merlyn had plunged into a violent delirium and had to be put in restraints. Diggle had kept his friend informed about the Dark Archer's developing withdrawal symptoms. Oliver decided not to comment and keep his distance. They'd settled on a plan of action the night they brought Merlyn to his current quarters.

_Verdant Basement , several weeks ago._

Oliver and Diggle leaned against the cell door, panting. "Phew, at least that one is done for now," Diggle commented, looking at Malcolm Merlyn's crumpled form through the barred door of the cell they'd just dropped him in.

They limped to the main room, where Felicity waited, first aid kit and all the necessary additions at the ready. "Ok, who do I patch up first?"

"Diggle"

"Oliver"

Both men said each others' names at the same time, so she had to make her own assessment.

She handed Diggle a bandage. "Tie it and squeeze tight above your thigh, then drink this." She gave him one of the metal mugs with Oliver's miracle healing herbs already chopped up and made into tea.

She fussed a little with Oliver's chest wound, put some of the herb extract on it and bandaged it up too.

"If I'm not mistaken, you've brought a guest here with you tonight. The commlink connection broke some time after we disabled the devices. Care to tell me what's going on?"

The men looked at each other.

"Umm," Oliver started. Felicity stared at him with that 'I will see right through your bullshit, so don't even try' expression.

He capitulated. "We've arrested Malcolm Merlyn," he said as fast as he could, like that would make the situation less difficult.

Felicity cocked an eyebrow. "Arrested, so... As in... in cooperation with detective Lance and the SCPD?"

"No," Oliver admitted. "Just me and Diggle. There was no time, as you well know, before the devices were about to activate. We weren't sure; we didn't want to cause panic."

She studied both their faces carefully. Then she thought a moment. "So what now, now that you have Malcolm Merlyn in your custody?"

Oliver knew exactly what he wanted to do, all that remained was to get his friends on board. He knew he'd need a different approach to each one of them.

He started with a bit of Felicity-convincing. "Felicity, I cannot give him away to the police now, because he knows my identity. He would ruin our case before it even began. I need time to prepare something he can not wiggle out of - like... like the Unidac scientist murders."

She nodded slowly and he jumped at another opportunity. "Can you pull up everything you've got on that? The more we have, the stronger our case will be. Oh, and by the way -" he added as another thought hit him that would give her more work and hopefully keep her off his back a little longer- "the tracker I asked you to hack into on the roof just before we went offline - did you manage to make it report as being somewhere else?"

"Yes, it's showing whoever was helping Merlyn that he is somewhere in the Glades."

"Great. Keep it moving all over Starling, then the country; heck, the whole continent even."

"Getting right on it!" She went off to click away on her computers.

Oliver put an arm on Diggle's shoulder and walked him to the far corner of the room, where most of his exercise equipment was located. This was going to be a completely different conversation. Felicity was a hacker geek with lots of ideals, Diggle was a former Special Forces soldier with no illusions.

John turned to face him and crossed his arms. "Allright, Felicity is out of earshot, so tell me straight. What's your plan?"

Oliver looked deep into his friend's eyes and knew there was no room for cheap lines of evasive tactics here. "I intend to drag every useful bit of information out of him as soon as possible. We need to prevent anything like the Undertaking from ever happening again. No matter what the cost."

"So we treat him like any regular prisoner, a terrorist even?" Diggle asked in a calm voice, then his expression changed to concern. "Oliver, you know that requires torture… Military grade measures…"

"I know," Oliver said, remembering his ARGUS training. "Would you do it any other way if Lawton was involved and the life of your brother's family was at stake?"

"No." Diggle admitted after a beat.

"So, are you with me on this, 100 percent?"

Diggle looked Oliver deeply in the eyes. He seemed uneasy for a moment, but then determination filled his gaze; he'd made up his mind. "I am," he finally answered. "Good luck convincing Felicity, though."

Oliver only chuckled bitterly.

_Verdant Basement, present day_

Oliver was pulled out of his reverie by a scream and then a fit of racking coughs coming from the cell. His eyes flashed back to the observation slot and saw Merlyn almost sitting up in bed, his left hand fighting the restraints as it tried desperately to reach his chest. Oliver observed as the cough slowly subsided into broken gasps and the prisoner lay back on his pillow, panting heavily. He noted the blood stains on the wall and the sheets left by the repeatedly reopened wounds on Merlyn's wrists.

Suddenly, he felt somebody's gaze on him; his eyes traveled upwards and met those of the prisoner. He'd turned his head to the door and stared straight into the observation slot: straight into Oliver's eyes. The boy found himself unable to look away from the intensity of Merlyn's gaze.

"Please…" Malcolm said hoarsely, but clearly enough to be heard. "Please, make it stop… Just for a while... " He was begging now. "Oliver…"

The Vigilante looked into the pleading, bloodshot eyes of his enemy, not changing his expression. His hand suddenly jerked forward and slammed the observation slot shut with an echoing metal clang.

tbc...

* * *

><p>End notes:<p>

First things first, lol:

Funny outtakes:

This is an alternate, comical version of the scene at the beginning of the chapter, right before Oliver starts shooting Malcolm. Bloodsong came up with Malcolm's reply during the first beta read-through, and it's just too priceless not to share!

_Malcolm disregarded the quip and kept trying to get into a less vulnerable position. He propped himself onto his hands and knees, but Oliver slammed him down with his bow. Seconds later, the Vigilante's boot connected painfully with his side and his back hit the wall again. He felt the coppery taste of blood fill his mouth and he coughed. It seemed as if his lungs were about to burst. The boy walked back toward the exit and turned. Merlyn's eyes flashed to Oliver as he heard him draw his bow. _

_"Say something!" the young archer yelled, aiming directly at him._

_Malcolm: "Stop effing kicking me, dammit!"_

End notes continued!

As I warned in my author's note at the beginning, it has a lot of dark themes, but I hope you liked it.

Remember to review!


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